


A Day Out

by Guanin



Series: Reunited [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: It was a beautiful day. Not in the typical sunny skies way. This was England, after all. Unbridled sunshine was hard to come by. But the birds were singing, a warm breeze created gentle waves on the tall grass of the meadow surrounding them, and the skies, while cloudy, cast a soft light over the landscape. Aziraphale had suggested that they finally go on that picnic that he’d proposed (without much of hope of it ever happening) in 1967, and Crowley had eagerly accepted





	A Day Out

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write a sequel to Reunited, but here we are.

It was a beautiful day. Not in the typical sunny skies way. This was England, after all. Unbridled sunshine was hard to come by. But the birds were singing, a warm breeze created gentle waves on the tall grass of the meadow surrounding them, and the skies, while cloudy, cast a soft light over the landscape. Aziraphale had suggested that they finally go on that picnic that he’d proposed (without much of hope of it ever happening) in 1967, and Crowley had eagerly accepted. Now that Heaven and Hell were leaving them alone, they had full reign to do whatever they pleased without worrying for each other’s safety or whether anyone in head office would consider checking up on their embellished reports. Wanting to get out of the city for a bit, they chose one of the meadows that Adam had restored while reshaping reality. Not all of his changes had survived. The nuclear reactor had its plutonium back, for one thing. But some of the better alterations remained. To put their picnic blanket down, they’d had to flatten a portion of the grass, but that was alright. It would miraculously spring up when they left. They faced downhill on a gentle slope, at the bottom of which lied a lake. After eating their fill, Crowley had tossed himself back on the blanket, arms under his head. Aziraphale had joined him, pressing his head to his shoulder. Crowley lowered one of his arms and placed it over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale grabbed his hand and kissed his palm. A feeling of mutual love hung between them. They had been projecting it since they had first lied together two days ago after Aziraphale apologized for being so unfairly unwilling to express his affection for Crowley the way that he most desired to.

“Heaven and Hell are a bunch of fucking idiots,” Crowley said. “Wanting to destroy all this just for a petty feud? They’ve never had any imagination. Any of them.”

Aziraphale burrowed his face more snuggly on his shoulder.

“I do not understand it myself. Sandalphon actually said that he couldn’t understand how anyone could stand being more than five minutes on Earth. This beautiful place. Can you believe it?”

“I can believe it from him. He’s got the emotional range of a spoon. Heaven, I wanted to punch him in his smug face. All of them.”

Crowley’s arm tightened around Aziraphale, who smiled at the waves of protective fury emanating from Crowley. He tugged Crowley’s arm down from around his shoulders and kissed his knuckles.

“It’s alright, darling,” he said. “Let’s not let them ruin our nice day.”

Crowley resisted, always so eager to burst into a long rant against the divine powers, but Aziraphale distracted him with another kiss on his wrist, pouring an extra dose of pleasure on his skin as he did so. Crowley hummed, eyelids lowering as his excitement shifted from anger to far better things. He grinned at Aziraphale, eyes sparkling, and turned on his side, clothes melting off as he did so until he wore nothing more than a Scottish kilt. Aziraphale smiled, turning on his side as well.

“I’m sensing a pattern here,” he said, pressing another kiss to Crowley’s palm, lips lingering on his skin, luxuriating in the unique scent of Crowley.

“You love the way I look in kilts,” Crowley said, tugging Aziraphale’s hand toward him to suck at the inside of his elbow. Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered, his breath growing short. His wings unfurled, flapping rapidly in excitement. Crowley chuckled with pleasure. He touched the top of Aziraphale’s right wing, massaging it, but with more than just his hand. A thrill of elation shot through Aziraphale’s feathers, like sparkling stars tingling in his nerves. Moaning, Aziraphale climbed atop Crowley and kissed his chest, suckling the skin right under his collarbone. He trembled, the sensations still new, still effervescent in their ability to overwhelm him. Crowley clutched his back, digging in his fingertips, sending warmth through Aziraphale’s muscles.

“Same attire, I see,” Crowley said.

What? Oh. Aziraphale sat up and looked down at himself. It appeared that he had unconsciously changed back into the kilt that he’d worn when they first lied together.

“I suppose I must associate it with this,” he said. “And it’s comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining.”

The most wicked grin graced Crowley’s face. Aziraphale blushed, his cheeks burning up, but he smiled back, grasping Crowley’s wrist as Crowley began stroking up Aziraphale’s chest, sending the tingliest of sensations through his body. After a moment, Crowley dropped his arms back on the ground, holding both of them up beside his head. He wiggled his fingers with a tempting grin.

“Come on,” he said.

“You want me to hold you down?” Aziraphale asked, nervous, yet thrilled by the prospect.

Crowley shrugged.

“If you want. I want to try something.”

Slowly, Aziraphale lowered his hands to his, intertwining their fingers.

“All the way down, angel.”

Aziraphale lied back atop him, chest to chest.

“Close your eyes,” Crowley coaxed him, voice gentle.

Aziraphale did so. He breathed deeply through his nose before resting his face atop Crowley’s, cheek to cheek. A warm feeling began emanating from Crowley’s body into his own. He felt like he was floating on air, but not alone. Crowley’s spirit flew up to him, brushing at the edges of his own even while remaining in his own body, silently asking for permission. Aziraphale accepted, yearning, brushing against Crowley’s spirit with his own in turn in a spark of delicious rapture. Crowley pushed even further forward.

Another plane appeared around them, the darkness of space broken by the bright luminescence of a nebula, its brilliant dust bathing them with more light than would be possible in reality. Aziraphale could see Crowley, iridescent, black wings spread out behind him, a beautiful, cocky grin on his face, reaching out for Aziraphale with body and soul. Even as Aziraphale wrapped his spirit around Crowley’s, he felt Crowley’s chest press against his, both sucking in shallow breaths which gusted on their faces, their limbs shivering, the cooling breeze washing their bodies, making goosebumps rise. Despite Crowley having his back pressed against the ground, Aziraphale felt his wings fluttering against him, both in the physical and spiritual planes. Lights glittered off their feathers as they met, tiny sparkles of white, tickling them. Crowley touched Aziraphale’s feathers with his hand, reverential, nostalgia in his eyes as he gazed at them and traced the form of one from stem to tip.

“Mine were this color before I fell,” he said.

Aziraphale heard him in both planes, his voice sorrowful on Aziraphale’s ears, lips brushing against his jaw. Most angels’ wings were white, but not all. Aziraphale had never dared ask what Crowley had looked like before he Fell, or even his original name. It would be terribly improper of him to do so. He had tried not to think of Crowley as an angel at all during the first centuries that they knew each other. What had come before was irrelevant, he told himself. Crowley was a demon. He had transgressed against the Almighty and had been rightfully punished. Never mind that he seemed very nice and friendly and shuddered at the thought of hurting children. Or his obvious love of humanity, which, even back then, Aziraphale had been appalled that some of his fellow angels, beings of love and light, didn’t share. Aziraphale burned with shame upon remembering how he had doubted Crowley, who was a kinder, truer being than any of the angels that Aziraphale had met in Heaven.

“Do you miss it?”

The question slipped out of Aziraphale’s lips. He had thought it many times but had never dared express it.

“What?” Crowley asked, frowning. “Heaven? Nah. It’s plain and boring, and most people are assholes.”

“Not Heaven. Your wings. Your original form when you were there.”

Crowley flapped his wings violently, frown deepening into a scowl. Aziraphale floated back, eyes lowering in remorse.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

Crowley tugged him back and hugged him close, burying his face in Aziraphale’s chest, projecting love and apology deep into Aziraphale’s being. And not a small amount of personal shame and pain. Aziraphale surrounded him with love as well, cradling him in his arms. Suddenly, Crowley pushed himself back, wings extending high above him. His spiritual fingers detached from Aziraphale’s even as his physical ones squeezed tighter. His hair grew into the long, curly waves he bore at their first meeting. The black in his feathers oozed away, replaced by the brightest white, shining pure light, as did his skin, which lost the flame-tarnished look it bore so often. His snake eyes shifted to brown so dark that it looked black, only it wasn’t black at all. Lights shone in his irises. Aziraphale flew closer, peering deep within. Stars glimmered in Crowley’s eyes, white and blue. A wisp of yellow lined the edge of his left pupil, the color of the nebula he had helped create. He was one of the most magnificent sights Aziraphale had ever had the honor to behold.

“I could look like this again if I put my will to it,” Crowley said.

His voice cut sharply, like an ax head striking wood, even as he tried to sound nonchalant, like he didn’t care that his form had been altered against his will, that he could no longer claim the title of Angel, that his damnation was “fine, I’m used to it, nothing to write home about” while it caused him the deepest agony imaginable to have been banished from his home and thrown into burning sulfur simply for asking questions. The same questions that Aziraphale had been too cowardly to ask himself, for fear that this might be his fate. A Fallen Angel. But Crowley wasn’t like Hastur or Beelzebub. He didn’t revel in wickedness and plot painful miseries while huddled in the suffocating, windowless pits of hell. He had done his utmost to spend as little time down there was possible, and shuddered every time that he thought of going back to it. Even when he tried not to show it, Aziraphale could feel his fear like a sick frisson in the air. He was a demon, yes, but he didn’t think like one. Much like Aziraphale, it turned out, didn’t think like an angel.

“It would exhaust you, dearest,” Aziraphale said, flying to him and cradling his face with his hands. “You’re not the person you were at the beginning. Neither of us is.”

He bathed Crowley in love and purest sunlight. Crowley gasped, shaking, eyes blinking too rapidly. Aziraphale prepared himself to soothe the tears he thought were coming, but after Crowley closed his eyes, he opened them to reveal that his irises had changed back to all-encompassing yellow, his pupils once again vertical slits. With a flap of his wings, they returned to the dark of the purest night, shining with the sheen of a raven’s in the prime of its plumage. His skin roughened once more, sooty under Aziraphale’s fingers. Aziraphale stroked up his face, the beloved, beautiful face that he wouldn’t change for the world.

“I like you better like this,” he said, dropping a kiss on Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, then laughed. It reverberated through Aziraphale’s body, followed swiftly by Crowley’s arms wrapping around him, both in the astral plane and on Earth, fingers digging in, Crowley’s mouth planting a line of kisses from Aziraphale’s face down his neck. Crowley wrapped his wings around him. Aziraphale did the same. They were tucked so snuggly that his muscles began to hurt, but his spiritual wings dug in deeper until they were so close that no one could have wrenched them apart no matter how hard they pulled. Aziraphale had been apprehensive of going this far, but as his spirit and Crowley’s sank into each other, he didn’t know why. His breath grew shallow until he had no more awareness of breath or clinging hands, only still and tranquil peace as they hovered in space, bound together, surrounded by the nebula that had sprung from Crowley’s wondrous imagination.

He didn’t know how long they remained so. Years may have gone by and neither would have noticed. It took raindrops, hard and cold, to jar them back into their bodies. They gasped in unison, eyes opening as Aziraphale leaned back and gaped down at Crowley in awe. Aziraphale miracled a tent over them, it’s sides of a sheer fabric so that they could see the outside. Crowley breathed heavily under him, clutching Aziraphale’s back.

“That was something,” he murmured, overwhelmed, staring up at Aziraphale in amazement.

“It was.”

Aziraphale dropped down beside him. Crowley instantly lied on his side to match him, a foot reaching out and curling around Aziraphale’s shin. His wings fluttered, one lowering to cover Aziraphale, but not in a protective manner. Rather, he sought to cling to Aziraphale as snuggly as he could. Aziraphale indulged him willingly, smiling as he gazed into Crowley’s apprehensive, yellow eyes. He stroked Crowley’s wing, the merest touch of his fingertips.

“I really do like you much better like this,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley frowned, caught between wanting to believe Aziraphale and fearing that it might be a lie. Then he smiled that “devil may care” grin of his.

“You have weird tastes, angel.”

“Well, then I do,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve already told you that you’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t start doubting me now.”

Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s hand, clutching it tight before raising it to his mouth and kissing his palm. Aziraphale’s breath shivered at the drop of pleasure that Crowley poured into his skin.

“Never."


End file.
